


you and I are a gang of losers

by sidnihoudini



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-06
Updated: 2009-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach doesn't do very well with puking, crying, or bad hair.  At one point or another in their relationship, Chris has exposed him to all three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and I are a gang of losers

"Don't take my cucumbers," Zach bitches, kicking Chris' foot under the table. Chris laughs, a slice of cucumber hanging out of his mouth as he recoils, reaching down to rub at his shin.

Chris squints his eyes even though he's wearing sunglasses, and says, still chewing, "I'm entitled to that, you tasted my drink."

"If by drink you mean salt, then yes, I tasted your drink," Zach replies, already picking the sliced radishes off the top of his salad. Chris watches him with a sour look on his face, and brings one hand around to shield his margarita, which he sweet-talked the waitress into pouring into a normal glass. Score one for his masculinity.

Leaning down to sip from behind his hand-shield, Chris frowns. "The salt is the best part."

"The booze is the best part," Zach says, offhandedly, reaching for his fork. He eyes Chris over the table top, breeze blowing past and almost taking their napkins away. "Are you going to eat your burger or are you going to guard your drink?"

Chris sucks on the inside of his cheek. The bartender actually put way too much salt in his mix, but he plans on cock-outing it and drinking the rest.

"Both," Chris replies, dragging his plate towards him with one finger. They both coast to look in two different directions as they start in on their meals, noise weighing around them in the sound of other patrons talking, the cooks laughing over the huge open grill in the middle. Chris eats the pickle off the top of his burger and squints into the sunlight over Zach's head. "You're right, this place is pretty cool. The view is incredible."

Zach rips his bread in two and looks at Chris with a cheek full of salad, reaches for his drink and swallows at the same time as he says, "You just like the fact that you got your girly drink in a regular glass."

"It's not a girly drink, it's a Mexican drink," Chris takes a sip to prove his point, then, licking his mouth, sets the glass back down on the table top and over pronounces, "Margarita," dragging the M out until Zach rolls his eyes and pops a baby carrot in his mouth.

Snapping the carrot between his back molars, Zach shakes his head and then pokes it out over the cement railing they're sitting up against. The entirety of the city coasts below them, they're only three or four stories up but it feels like a lifetime.

"We should get more drinks," Chris decides, hamburger in one hand as he reaches for the drink menu with the other, butting past the salt and pepper Corona bottle shakers to get to the bucket that holds some extra napkins and the menu.

Zach picks something out of his front tooth and steals a slice of mushroom that fell out of Chris' burger when he isn't looking.

"It isn't even four-thirty," He says, eyeing Chris' forehead over the edge of the drink menu.

Chris lowers it down from in front of his face and says, "It's the hottest day in July and we're on a roof in the middle of Los Angeles. If I feel like a beer, I'm gonna get one."

"Or you could just get another one of your girly drinks," Zach says, off-handedly, almost under his breath, and maybe he would've been able to hold his poker face if Chris hadn't gaped over the drink menu before throwing it at his head.

.

The bill comes to something ridiculous so Zach gets back at Chris hitting him with the menu by slipping the waitress his own credit card, something that Chris bitches about the entire way back down the stairs and into the parkade.

"You don't have to overcompensate," Zach says mildly, unlocking his car when they're still six or seven parking spaces away. He looks over at Chris beside him, digging through his wallet for cash Zach knows he doesn't keep. "You're not a chick, I get it. I wouldn't be here if you were."

Chris wanders around to the passenger side of the SUV and waits until Zach cracks his door open too before he frowns and says, "I don't overcompensate, I'm just saying, man, when we drop five hundred bucks on a meal, I want to pay half."

"Are you drunk?" Zach asks, door swinging closed not a second after he pulls his leg in and sticks the key in the ignition. "Right now you sound like an argumentative drunk."

The car rumbles to life under them as Zach sits there, watching the side of Chris' head.

"I'm not drunk," Chris finally says, still staring out the front window. Zach raises his eyebrows and leans in two inches like that means Chris is actually going to continue. "I don't overcompensate, either."

Zach hides his grin as he nods his head, throwing one arm around the back of Chris' seat as he backs out of the stall. This time he doesn't almost accidentally take out his rear view mirror on a structural post.

When they get to the toll station Zach sits back and looks at Chris expectantly. Chris stares back, the parking attendant sitting awkwardly in his little booth a foot away as Chris finally gets it and starts digging around in his pocket for a couple of dollar bills.

"You're such a dick when you're proving a point," He says, handing the money over.

.

They get back to Zach's place so he can let the dog out and finish mopping his kitchen floor or whatever, a task Chris apparently drug him away from when he inquired about going to get food before he starved to death.

As Zach resumes cleaning his kitchen, Chris drops into the sofa in his living room, toeing his shoes off under the coffee table as he feels around for the television remote. He's pretty sure he saw it this morning, or maybe it was last night.

He locates it under the crossword puzzle book laying spine-up on the armchair next to the couch, which he isn't too happy about. As he turns the television on, fifty beautiful inches of pure HDTV, he hears Zach bumping the mop against the bottoms of the kitchen counters, feet squeaking on the wet surface.

"Hey whatever happened to renting a movie?" Chris asks, scratching his head and tipping it back against the couch so he can get his voice at just the right angle to surround-sound into the kitchen. He frowns a little and coasts a hand through his hair, he probably could have used a shower this morning.

Zach appears in the kitchen doorway with his gray jeans rolled up to the ankles and a dishtowel in his hands. He raises his eyebrows and says, "That was the plan like two weeks ago. Where have you even been?"

"Asleep, apparently," Chris smirks, head still rocked back against the couch cushions. It keeps him staring at Zach from a funny angle that doesn't really do anything for his jawline. "Are you done waxing?"

Dragging his hands through the dishtowel, Zach nods his head and wanders over with his bare feet, standing behind the couch long enough to survey what Chris has on his plasma.

"You know they edit all the good parts out on this channel, right?" He asks, coming around to step over the armrest of the couch and sink into the cushions feet first, legs bending under him as Chris inhales, an inwards yawn, rubs at his eye with his left hand and lets his other arm drop against the couch behind Zach's shoulders.

Chris pokes at Zach's shoulder blade with the pad of his thumb and half-smiles, looking back to the TV screen.

.

Noah eats something he shouldn't have while he was outside so Zach has to wash the kitchen floor again. He alternates between mopping and yelling for updates at Chris in the other room, where he's down on both knees as he watches Noah lick himself on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"He seems fine now," Chris yells. It doesn't startle the dog as much as it just makes him stare at Chris out of the corner of his eye as he buries his nose in the furthest part of his back, where his hair is curliest. Chris pats his haunch experimentally.

Zach looks like he's trying to double task as one shoulder and his head come around the edge of the kitchen door frame. Chris can tell he's trying to keep one eye on something else, too, though.

"He seems fine," Chris repeats, using his normal voice this time. He even pats the dog's back again, smiling up at Zach as he does so. Zach doesn't do very well with puking, crying, or bad hair. At one point or another in their relationship, Chris has exposed him to all three.

Scratching behind his ear with his thumb, Zach raises his eyebrows and then motions at the living room floor. "Noah, cookie?" The dog's ears perk up and it jerks around from where he was chewing himself, panting from the exertion. "Cookie? Yeah? Come on."

Noah takes off and Zach disappears behind him, so Chris takes the opportunity to stretch out across the floor, at least until the cat makes an appearance and wanders up, wrapping itself around Chris' head and then his feet when he pokes it away.

.

"Okay, go to Now Playing," Chris demands, spot resumed in the furthest spot on the couch with Zach sitting in the middle beside him. Zach has the On Demand remote, which he never uses, which he actually has no idea how to use. "Zach, what the hell, click down."

Zach makes a face beside him. Chris can't see it as much as feel it up against the curve of his bicep; the gun show as he liked to call it when he was drunk, even only partially. He hides a yawn into the web of skin between his thumb and pointer finger as Zach finally becomes one with the twenty first century and manages to scroll to the latest releases.

"I feel like I still have puke on me," Zach comments into the sleeve of Chris' t-shirt, as the new releases load on-screen and Chris reaches over to pick through the bag of chips he walked all the way down to the corner store to buy a couple of nights ago. Generally he likes to plunder and secure all of the curled ones first.

Chris pops a chip into his mouth and rubs his hands together to get the salt and vinegar off as he crunches the chip and says, mouth full, "I'm sure you're fine. I can't smell anything except your soap."

"Do you want incredibly bad or just semi-terrible?" Zach asks, as his eyes trail over the first couple of titles that come up on the screen. Chris laughs and reaches over for the bag of chips without looking, almost knocking them off the table and onto the ground, which he's sure Zach would widely appreciate.

He digs around for another curled one and says, "As long as it doesn't describe the love interest as glittery, pick whatever you want."

"I describe you as glittery all the time," Zach says, eyes still trained on the TV as Chris pulls another chip out, biting it in half. Then he frowns and says, "Stop sticking your hand in and taking all the good ones."

Chris' hand retreats an inch inside the bag. "I'm not," He lies.

"You're a terrible liar," Zach tells him as he finally selects a title and it flashes a couple of times on screen. Chris shrugs with one shoulder and hands over his latest find, a triple folded chip that he's pretty sure holds at least seven percent of the flavoring added to this particular bag. Zach opens his mouth and even says, "Thank you," after crunching it into bits.

.

They watch the movie and Chris falls asleep like fifty times because Zach woke him up way too early for a Sunday morning with his stupid laughing. Chris never knew a phone call with someone's mother could be so funny, but there you have it.

"I think I'm getting my second wind," Chris lies, face mostly mashed in the warm spot between Zach's shoulder and the couch cushion as he leans forward to retrieve the remote from the coffee table, the Only Place a television remote should be left, according to Zachary Quinto's Way to Live Your Best Life.

Zach snorts and half turns around as Chris slides down a couple more inches, mouth still burning from the chips and eye now irritated from where he'd rubbed it when he woke up the last time.

"You've probably got some terrible degenerative disease, you know," Zach tells him, reaching down to pull him back up into a semi-upright position. "It's why you're so tired all the time."

Chris closes his eyes and yawns, leaning against Zach's shoulder as he turns the channel over to MTV, a station that rotates music videos for half an hour at one o'clock in the morning.

"I could dance the hell out of this song," He comments, the familiar sound of Beyonce being completely ridiculous forgoing whatever else Zach was going to make fun of him with.

Laughing, Zach wraps an arm around Chris' shoulders and kind of tugs him to the side, until they're both leaning against the back of the couch and Chris is getting dangerously close to sliding from drowsy into comatose.

"You'd probably wind yourself," Zach replies, kicking one foot up onto the couch, toes dangling off the edge of the arm rest. Chris makes a noise that means he neither agrees nor disagrees as his eyes get a little heavier and his head starts to swim. Zach yawns above him and changes the channel over to something more informative, Chris can't figure out if it's a Discovery Channel special on man-made disasters or your regular, run of the mill infomercial.

The last thing he remembers deciding is trying not to fall asleep before the phone number to order from is announced.

.

When he wakes up again it's mostly dark, and he's noticeably no longer on the couch.

Noah's tail starts going against the floor when he realizes Chris is awake. Chris peers over the edge of the bed where the dog has its head rested on his paws and is looking sleepily over at Chris, the red parts of his eyes still showing.

"You're like a child, go back to sleep," Zach mumbles from next to him, his fingers flexing against where they're hanging by Chris' stomach.

Chris half rolls over and whispers, voice rough, "And you're like an old man, you go back to sleep."

"You're delusional," Zach comments, rolling his face against the pillow. His fingers stay against Chris' belly, though, relaxed and warm. Chris rolls a little to his side so he can look at Zach face on, only half of his face showing past the sheets and pillowcase.

Blinking sleepily, Chris relaxes his head back down against his own pillow. "You're having a fantasy right now. It starts with me putting my socks back on."

Zach's face cracks and he starts laughing into his pillow, groaning because he's so tired. It's clear Chris woke him up out of a dead sleep by how pink the whites of his eyes are.

"Do you want me to do it in secret or would you rather watch?" Chris asks, rolling again and getting closer to Zach's face, nose butting against his cheek. He catches the alarm clock on Zach's table over his shoulder, and gets a blur of something ridiculous like 3:45. Chris lowers his voice down to what he assumes is sultry, and says, "I could do both."

The hand comes up off of Chris' stomach so Zach can rub at his face as he groans again and says, voice starved for sleep, "You can suck my dick if it'll make you go back to sleep, c'mon, I'm so tired."

Smiling, Chris yawns right into Zach's face, salt and vinegar everywhere because he's pretty sure he never brushed his teeth on the trip to bed that he doesn't even remember. Zach makes a face and groans, pulling his head back an inch as Chris settles in, resting his head in the crack between their pillows and hooking his thumb into the front of Zach's sweatpants.

"Now my feet are cold," Chris yawns, muffled from Zach's pillow.

Zach doesn't regard him with an answer. Instead, Chris hears the sheets rustling before Zach's feet slide across the mattress and kick at his for one ineffectual second. Chris scratches Zach's calf with his toenail and Zach butts his ankle up against the bridge of Chris' foot, but eventually they get it just right, and Chris falls asleep while he's trying to come up with something else to say out loud.


End file.
